Before the virtual war began, he’d pictured a gloriously thunderous final battle, replete with thopters, plasma cannons and wave after wave of desperate troops. The reality was the complete opposite. A group of filthy, battle-scarred Irians hunting down a lone Terran soldier. The reality was downbeat, squalid and bleak.
Looking through his rifle scope, Talbot was tempted to open fire as the Irians came within range. But he knew deep down that he’d only get enough time to take out three or four enemies before he was overwhelmed. No, the best thing to do now was vanish like a ghost. Easier said than done when you were a heavy-footed Terran on the run from speedy, tireless dragoons.
Talbot backed away from the rock, keeping it in line with his pursuers. They wouldn’t know his exact location but had correctly guessed his general bearing. Of course, the dead Irians would be testament to his recent visit.
Careful to move in a straight line and thus remain out of sight, Talbot headed further southeast, where he’d seen several deep gullies from the dam wall. The first was reasonably deep but partially filled with water. Besides, the Irians would look there first. Further south there were several trenches that meandered east-west. Talbot selected one and began crawling west. The unnatural action was murder on his knees but he ignored the pain, just glad to have somewhere to hide.
The trenches were essentially bone dry cracks in the salt pan, formed over several decades of drought conditions. Not even yesterday’s water release had reached this far south, which was remarkable in itself. The hungry delta had absorbed a massive volume of water.
Talbot crawled for what seemed like an eternity under the harsh sun, stopping to take a much needed rest when Alpha Centauri decided to sink behind the western peaks. So far he hadn’t seen or heard any sign of pursuers, but that didn’t mean they weren’t right on his hammer.
As the light faded, he considered himself miraculously lucky to have survived the day. The massacre on the mountain slope had been brutal, but his comrades had clearly fought superbly. By his calculations, the Irians had lost just as many troops during the skirmish. Not bad for a host that had been ambushed.
Talbot’s immediate need was hydration. He’d spent several hours on the parched plain and desperately needed to refresh his system. He knew there were puddles in the immediate area, but he dared not lift his head above the trench for fear of being spotted. In truth, Ashby had a difficult decision to make. He could split his forces, thus increasing the chances of finding Talbot, but that weakened his key advantage - overwhelming numbers.
No, Ashby would keep his posse intact and scour the delta in a methodical manner. As the last day on Silvano approached, Talbot would soon need to make a play, not Ashby. The man controlling all the delta beacons with a crew of eight experienced soldiers was entitled to take a conservative, low-risk approach.
Talbot decided to stay put and conserve his strength before making his move. He watched as darkness settled, listening to the various dragonflies and insects that had been drawn to the sudden influx of water the previous day. When he was certain that visibility had deteriorated enough to move freely, he popped his head over the trench wall.
Apart from a muted glow from the control tower on the dam wall, the region was pitch black. Without a moon of its own, the nights on Silvano were dark. Encouraged by his natural cover, Talbot moved across the muddy terrain until his boots splashed in a puddle. He scooped several handfuls of water into his mouth, gagging at the saltiness but managing to keep it down.
With a vaguely queasy feeling in his guts, he headed boldly toward the center of the delta, watching carefully for trenches and gullies. His eyes gradually grew accustomed to the gloom. The various trenches and deeper sections of the delta were slightly darker than the midnight blue of the expansive surface.
Assault rifle poised, Talbot felt like a primeval savage skulking about at the dawn of time. The feeling kept returning to him here on Silvano, and he wondered if it had anything to do with the mysterious alien technology. One thing was certain - there was an epic sense of history to this planet, a hint of deep time. Talbot felt in tune with it all, as if he was destined to secure Silvano’s future on his own.
26
At length Talbot found what he was looking for - a waist-high rock he could lean his sniper rifle on. He knelt in cover, slowing his breathing so he could scan with a firm hand. The rifle’s night-vision was a revelation. Edged in pale blue and grey, the stark landscape came alive. In theory, the esogenic filter would isolate the particular blend of synthetic and organic material that represented other soldiers.
Talbot had almost finished his 360 degree sweep when he spotted a cluster of objects glowing red on the scopes. He adjusted his dial, zooming in close. All nine of the Irians had made a “dark camp” four hundred yards to the east. Three were standing, probably on guard duty. The rest were prone on the ground, no doubt conserving their energy for the last day of battle.
Ashby was smart enough to know that looking for Talbot at night was a futile exercise. He had the men and he had the beacons. All he had to do was remain watchful the following day and put out any spot fires the lone Terran happened to create.
Talbot grinned as he ran his sights over the enemy encampment. In this darkness he could probably pick off two, maybe three targets before the rest would reach his position. Was it worth the risk? Instinct told him he needed to thin the enemy ranks. One man against nine just didn’t add up. But which targets? He was tempted to put a bullet in Ashby’s brain, but in reality he needed to bring down those sentries. They were the alert soldiers here.
His mind settled, Talbot lined up his first shot - the Irian who stood looking in his general direction. He could almost sympathize - vigilance was painfully hard to sustain, especially at night. Talbot squeezed the trigger. The Irian’s head spilled dark ichor as he fell. The other two scrambled for cover, showing impressive response times. Talbot managed to hit one in the back as he scurried away, but the other dived behind a rock. He swore under his breath - that Irian had gotten lucky.
Woken by the noise, the other Irians were climbing to their feet. Talbot had just enough time to shoot one in the chest before withdrawing. He sprinted for several minutes, not daring to look over his shoulder. He crossed several trenches and eventually selected one with waist-high water. Ignoring a cloud of biting mosquitoes, he stood against the wall and waited for his hammering heartbeat to subside.
At length Talbot could hear sharp voices. A tense minute passed as Talbot alternated between relief that he’d gotten away and certainty that the Irians were right on top of him. He heard soft footsteps barely ten yards along the edge of the trench. Taking a huge breath, he sank under the muddy water, waiting for what seemed like an eternity. The water was turbid, which would make it difficult for anyone above him to see anything.
By the time Talbot re-emerged, the immediate area was silent. He shivered uncontrollably while he waited in the water, arms aching from holding the guns aloft. When dawn arrived he would need to clean the barrels and chambers.
After an interminable hour had passed, Talbot risked a slow-walk to the east, assuming Ashby and his remaining crew would be scouring the western half of the delta. Wading through the slick, dark water was somewhat nerve-wracking, but a far lesser evil than what awaited him on the plain. At length the water petered out into ankle-deep mud.
Talbot found a suitable rock on which to lay his weapons and wait for the dawn. He rested his head against the trench wall, knowing any sleep he could find now could be the difference between living and dying on the morrow. He was confident the Irians wouldn’t begin a thorough search until Alpha Centauri had risen. As the darkest hours of night slithered by, Talbot maintained a tormented vigil, halfway between waking and sleeping. He would snatch a few minutes of shallow slumber here and there, but every splash, every insect chirp had him on edge.
All the while he marveled how the battle for a star system had come to this - primitive survival in a mud-filled tre
nch. There was something appropriate about breaking down all the combined technology of two civilizations and have them slug it out on an ancient floodplain. Of course, the ultimate irony to that was the game world itself. Talbot had never felt more alive, more human, than he did at that moment - scrapping and slugging for every minute of survival. If this was what it meant to be human, then the species was well placed to stake their rightful claim in the galaxy. Talbot would not lay down and die. He would use every last spark of imagination to drag this thing out.
As the black-blues of the night melted a little, revealing a solid outline to the surrounding terrain, Talbot got to work. First, he cleaned his weapons, glad to see they were still in working order. Assault rifles were usually quite hardy, but he’d been worried about his sniper rifle.
Next he drank more foul water, convincing himself that it would be the last time. He wouldn’t be able to stay in the trench for very long - Ashby and his dragoons would have no problem cornering him once sun had risen. Talbot would have to keep moving and improvise as he went.
He headed further east along the trench, marking the emergence of the sun over the eastern hills. The game was on in earnest now. He could just picture Ashby’s fast, agile dragoons scrambling over the salt pan, desperate to hunt him down.
As Talbot crept along the trench he noticed a cloying, hideous smell. It was the smell of death and rotten meat. There, in a side-gully - a large animal carcass on its side. The same yak-like beast the Terrans had used for resources up in the mountains.
Talbot’s mind worked feverishly, presenting an idea that seemed so audacious it couldn’t possibly work. With great difficulty he hauled the beast from the trench. He was exposing himself, but the risk was worth taking. Besides, the light was still faltering and indistinct.
The next part was the hard bit. Talbot had decided to climb inside the beast’s rotten, maggot-ridden belly for the duration of the day. Well, at least until it was time to make his beacon run. It seemed unsafe to expose himself to germs and toxins, but the payoff, if he remained undetected, spoke for itself.
Gritting his teeth, Talbot cut open the beast’s belly and resisted the impulse to tease its guts out. He needed this to look as “natural” as possible. Retching violently, he climbed into the warm, stinking cavity, telling himself the jelly-like internal organs felt just like Immersion gel. Thankfully the belly didn’t close over completely, allowing him to see a yard or two of dirt through the slit. The smell was overpowering and a viscous liquid began leaking over his head. He didn’t quite know where to position his weapons, but he eventually found a semi-comfortable position on his side.
Ensconced in his horrific palace of maggots and grey meat, Talbot waited out the morning. The sun beat down on the carcass, heating it up considerably. Talbot struggled to stay conscious, focusing on that sliver of freedom through the beast’s belly. All kinds of crazy thoughts and notions came to him in his delirium, but he knew he had to remain where he was until the day began to fade. Around noon he thought he heard snatches of alien conversation but they were carried away by the breeze. His brain could easily have been playing tricks on him.
As the afternoon wore on, Talbot ran through his plan for the thousandth time. It was the only logic node he could grasp onto. When the time was right, he would climb free of the beast and run. He knew there were at least three beacons to the west and he hoped to capture all of them. That would give the Terrans six beacons to the Irians’ four - a winning margin.
Of course, Ashby wasn’t going to allow Talbot to waltz over the delta picking up hard-won beacons. He and his men would be on the lookout for the Terran’s final move. The five dragoons had long-range weapons and knew how to use them. Even if Talbot reached the beacons he would eventually tire. The Irians would have no problem catching up to him. Which was why he needed to time his run perfectly. He knew he couldn’t outrun the Irians, but he could lure them away from the captured beacons, or at least split Ashby’s force in two. He couldn’t predict how things would play out. It was probably better to improvise when the time came.
The long afternoon simmered by, Talbot’s body cramping in the fixed position. He would’ve given anything to step out and stretch his legs. His face was drenched with rancid sweat and his right hand had come into contact with a swarm of maggots. Keeping his breathing under control, Talbot told himself that twilight wasn’t far away and he’d soon be shaking the cobwebs free. In fact, in just under two hours he knew every sinew in his body would be screaming at him to rest. Soon enough even this horrific hiding place would seem like a bed of the purest silk.
The shadows on the dirt outside grew longer as late afternoon arrived. Talbot checked his wrist pad for the exact local time - just over an hour of game time left. In a few minutes it would be time to move. Talbot had no idea if one hour was enough time or way too much. It just seemed like a prudent time frame given the fading light. He tensed his body for movement, stretching as much as he could while still in cover.
As the last hour ticked over, Talbot rolled free of his hellish sanctuary and climbed gingerly to his feet. The muddy, flat delta was serene and placid in the gathering dusk. The Irian beacons glowed like jewels to the west. He didn’t need his rifle scope to locate the Irians - they were over a mile to the north, heading east in a wide line. Ashby had the good sense to keep his men separated but within sight and earshot of his commands.
Talbot was bound to be spotted within seconds, so he started sprinting west along the trench.
27
It took Talbot a minute of running to iron out the stiffness in his body. He removed his combat boots, figuring he was best going barefoot on this terrain. As a blood-red sun prepared to sink below the western horizon, John David Talbot ran for all he was worth. He didn’t need to check if the Irians were following - they had to have seen him. For the moment, the trench would protect him from long-range harpoon bolts, but sooner or later he would need to make a beeline for the first beacon.
On and on he sprinted through the twilight, a single thought dominating his mind - victory. A noise drew a look over his shoulder - a dragoon had slipped into the trench far behind him. He leaped onto the trench wall as a bolt whistled past. Hauling himself onto the plain, he continued in a northwesterly direction, spotting the first beacon less than a mile away.
Ashby and the rest of his force were approaching from the northeast. Thankfully they had a series of deep gullies to negotiate on the way through. Spurred on by the sight of his pursuers, Talbot ran until he was sure his feet were bleeding. The Irians gained on him and would soon be within harpoon range. Half of the sun had disappeared by the time Talbot reached the first beacon.
The Irians were likely to re-capture this one, but that couldn’t be helped. Turning to the southwest, Talbot set off for the second beacon on his manic run. There couldn’t be more than half an hour to go in the game. Despite every ligament and tendon in his body screaming at him to stop, he willed himself on.
He pictured what Silvano would look like with green fields on the delta, hunting camps on the mountain, fishing barges on the reservoir. A future for humans who’d done it tough their whole lives. Talbot had always told himself he didn’t care about any of that, but right now it seemed like the most important mission a Terran soldier could receive. This wasn’t about military domination - it was about a new start for a downtrodden people. Talbot felt a fresh burst of energy in his legs when he considered what Alpha Centauri might mean to humans one day.
The next two beacons were reasonably close to each other. The first was located on a small hill, the second in a trench beyond the hill. Before he turned them navy blue, however, he was gonna need to smoke the Irian who’d tracked him along the trench. He was by far the closest of his enemies and would probably get a good look at Talbot if the Terran climbed the hill from this side.
So needed to lay a trap. As he passed a boulder, Talbot stopped short and pressed his back against it, letting his breathing slow. When his ha
nds were still he peered around the side and looked over his scopes first, in the way he’d seen Laura do it. The Irian was scurrying in his direction, harpoon poised.
Talbot lowered his gaze through the scopes and made sure of his shot, planting a bullet in the alien’s chest. The Irian was struck flush and thrown backwards. Even if his light armor had saved his life, he wouldn’t be intercepting Talbot anytime soon. The Terran broke cover and sprinted for the hill.
The plucky Irian must’ve recovered quickly, because a harpoon bolt grazed Talbot’s right hip, the explosive charge removing a chunk of flesh. Talbot grunted from the pain and almost collapsed, but somehow his legs kept pumping through a fresh deluge of pain. Panting hard, he finally made it to the crest of the hill. He stepped through the enemy palisades and turned the beacon. There was no time to rest. From the high vantage point he could see the five remaining Irians clearing the last of the trenches and running full speed in his direction.
With any luck, Talbot would secure the trench beacon and make it back to the hill before Ashby arrived. It was a good place to mount a defense, although what he was going to do against five armed dragoons was anyone’s guess.
Weighed down with fatigue, Talbot dropped into the trench behind the hill and willed himself eastward through ankle-deep water. The beacon was located at the end of the gully, no more than three hundred yards away. Talbot used the last of his energy reserves to reach it, grimacing with pain as he turned it navy blue.
Alpha Centauri was all but sunk as he began his journey back to the hill. His body was wracked with pain and his stamina had been depleted long ago. Clutching at his shattered ribs and limping from his ruined hip, the lone Terran soldier forced himself up the hill through sheer belligerence. It was the only source of power Talbot had left.
Virtual War: Alpha Centauri (A LitRPG Novel) Page 17
